


"At Last, He Had Come to Her Door"

by mastiffgirl



Category: Fleetwood Mac (Band), buckingham nicks - Fandom, lindsey buckingham - Fandom, stevie nicks - Fandom
Genre: 50 somethings can still get it on, Ex Sex, F/M, NSFW, say you will era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mastiffgirl/pseuds/mastiffgirl
Summary: When she heard his knock (a tap of withholding and timidness, but firm enough to be heard), she knew. She knew, and, though she was exhausted, she would see it through.
Relationships: Lindsey Buckingham/Stevie Nicks
Kudos: 3





	"At Last, He Had Come to Her Door"

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW  
> Don't blame it on her--blame it on her wild heart.
> 
> Cross-posted from my Wattpad (sunset-dreaming)

The evening's show finished, makeup wiped clean, and clothes discarded, Stevie sat at the vanity. The presidential suite the Vdara Hotel & Spa provided was sufficient enough, she thought. Though, she would have preferred a Tiffany lamp or two—reminders of home; reminders of mirth.

Stevie lathered a thick layer of La Mer creme over her porcelain face, paying extra attention to the noticeable bags under her eyes. Decades of touring was not easy on the body, nor was it easy on the face...any of their faces. Being well into her fifties, Stevie was more aware of what her body couldn't do, rather than the other way around. In her "prime" days, she was nimble and spry—a catch for any man, ostensibly. What she truly desired was a partner who fit her lifestyle. Having tried that, and failed beyond recompense many times over, Stevie had learned she was likely destined to remain single until the day she died. What "single" meant in her life wasn't necessarily the definition outside of the rock band world, however.

When she heard his knock (a tap of withholding and timidness, but firm enough to be heard), she knew. She knew, and, though she was exhausted, she would see it through. Stevie rose gracefully, adjusting her beige silk robe to cover what was hidden, and what would soon be revealed. Her flaxen locks framed her softened features like a halo. With back-lighting from the vanity, she looked even more radiant as she opened the door.

He stood before her embarrassed, per usual, his body slumped and his hands in his pockets. A scolded schoolboy, he appeared, and Stevie assumed no pretense in asking him what he wanted or why he had come to her. She beckoned him inside, standing parallel to the door as she allowed room for him to cross the threshold, almost as though he was coming home. Stevie slowly closed the door behind him. His intent and her knowledge of his intent were instinctual. After decades of interacting with each other, nothing was secret between the two of them anymore.

Stevie moved to cross him and rearrange roses sent to her from room service. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back to his chest, gently but possessively stopping her in her tracks. Stevie huffed in mock frustration; she wanted this almost as much as he did, though she would never admit it.

"Lindsey, we can't do this."

Her rebuff fell on deaf ears as Lindsey nestled his nose and mouth into Stevie's shoulder. She fought to keep from shoving an elbow in his rib cage. Whether fueled by her irritation at her inability to keep a straight face with him, or her outright professions of love to him onstage, Stevie couldn't identify the cause of the internal uproar piercing through her body. His touch was tender but pleading. His arms wrapped around her torso, languid and waiting for her to make the next move. She always made the next move; that was their unspoken agreement. He initiated, and she continued and directed their connection, whatever the ultimate outcome would be. Sometimes, their love-making lasted less than an hour; other times, they didn't leave each other's arms until they had to be up and getting ready for the next show. It depended on the day and the weather.

Lindsey pulled Stevie closer to him, giving her an opportunity to feel his growing erection in the hopes her next move would soon follow. Stevie intertwined her fingers with Lindsey's, slowly moving his hands from around her petite body and placing them on her shoulders, their fingers still haphazardly connected.

Confused, Lindsey inquired, "Are you alright? Is this what you want? I can leave if you want to be alone tonight."

Stevie sighed. Lindsey couldn't read if she was irritated or relieved, but any answer from her (non-verbal or not) was better than no answer. As he moved to step away, Stevie grasped his fingers and shook her head with discontent. He returned to his prior stance at her back, and Stevie relaxed into him, nearly mimicking what they had shared with the world onstage a few hours before.

She had made the next move.

Before allowing the situation to escalate further, Lindsey began his usual series of apologies and self-sacrificing remarks: "I'm so sorry, Stevie. I've been cruel over the years, and I only hope you can forgive my stupid decisions." His list of reparations seemed endless, not to mention Stevie had heard all of them before.

"Do you want to fuck or keep talking?" Stevie asked pointedly, still not facing him, though her breath had deepened to a level rivaling that of her breathlessness when close to her peak. This did not go unnoticed by Lindsey.

Lindsey released his fingers and allowed his hands to roam over Stevie's small frame, feeling each curve as she relaxed further into his chest. Though he had come to her in near-desperation, he suddenly felt powerful in his need. His desires and unrest could not have been more evident, and Stevie (uncharacteristically) did not refuse to let him reach satisfaction. Eventually, she would be on her back, and she knew that. But allowing Lindsey to just feel her...caress her...letting his fingers get used to her skin once again...was a sacred and gracious act.

Lindsey inhaled sharply as Stevie clasped her hand over his and lead him south, parting the silk fabric at her center. Surprised that she was bare, Lindsey kissed her shoulder as a reflex. He felt her arousal: it was mild (normal for a woman of her age), but just enough for Lindsey to slip one digit in, eliciting staggered moans and Stevie's weight moving towards the floor. Lindsey caught her under the shoulders, his hand not-so-unconsciously grasping her breast. Lindsey slid his finger from Stevie's opening to rub her clitoris, her love liquid still lingering thick and moist between her folds. The soft circles Lindsey painted over her clitoris aroused her further. The feeling of their unity, so familiar and full of history, made her simultaneously grief-stricken and enthralled. To have him behind her—or, more accurately, to have him inside her—left her wanting him more than she had in years. The tumult of their relationship never faded away. They both felt it intensify every time their feet touched the stage and hands wrapped around microphones.

Fully conscious of the fingers caressing her skin, Stevie appreciated Lindsey's dexterity. With one hand, he played her clitoris as he played "Landslide", soft and sensual; with the other, a rendition of "The Chain" molded her plump bosom with fierce and unsteady pulses.

"I'm sorry, Stevie. I really am."  
"Don't say that," Stevie said firmly, her breath moving from deep to shallow. "You don't mean it." She pushed her buttocks into his growing bulge. "You never mean it."  
"Stevie, please..."

Stevie felt her face moisten suddenly. She was crying and hadn't noticed. Too late to hide her emotions, Stevie released her hand to bring both of them to her cheeks, wiping her face dry of stagnated release. Once again, Lindsey professed his love and apologies. Stevie felt his lips grace her ear lobe with each syllable. His hands continued their rhythms, slightly increasing in speed.

As Stevie grew closer to the point of no return, she knew she needed more than surface pleasure. Lindsey recognized her momentary hesitation, noting her body shift away from his chest and hands scan her cheeks once again. She led him leisurely to her bedroom suite. The space was decorated simply but with flares of Stevie Nicks. How unfair, it seemed. To have to witness the primal and unadulterated need two familiar strangers sought, then satisfied, then abandoned without thought, was a cruel injustice to the wallpaper surrounding them, Lindsey pondered. If any flies were indeed on the wall, they, too, would be subject to this selfish act. Further ruminations were halted as Stevie reached for Lindsey's belt. His navy tee-shirt casually tucked beneath the hem of his jeans was the only hurdle she had to overcome. Over _come_. _Come. Cum._

Stevie undid the loop of his belt and unzipped Lindsey's fly but left the rest up to him. His eyes followed her as she went in search of something—he knew what, but didn't know where to help her look. Tucked safely among her lace panties, Stevie found a humble bottle of lubricant and held it triumphantly before her. Lindsey cracked a grin; Stevie's childlike sense of accomplishment never ceased to amuse him. Though satisfied at her discovery, Stevie's affect soon turned dismal.

"Twenty years ago, I didn't need this." She shook the bottle while gliding back to Lindsey's embrace. "Hell," she continued, "Ten years ago, I didn't need this."  
"That was ten and twenty years ago. We're in our fifties. Our bodies have changed." Lindsey's gaze paused Stevie's inhibitions. Once again, a wet stream fell from her eyes. But Lindsey was the one to wipe it away.  
"Why do you do that?"  
"Do what?"  
"Wipe my tears."  
"Would you rather I not?"  
Stevie buried her face in Lindsey's chest, mumbling, "No..." as meekly as a newborn kitten.

Lindsey reached for the small bottle, prying Stevie's fingers away. She held onto the plastic container as though it were the last few drops of water to sustain her on a trek through the Saharan desert. Both resentment towards, and knowledge of her need for it, caused Stevie to grip the lubricant as firmly as she was. As Lindsey removed it from her grasp, Stevie untied her silk robe, leaving herself bare, vulnerable, and scared. Still nestled in Lindsey's embrace, she felt less insecure; however, when he pulled away and unknowingly tugged the silk fabric with him, leaving her breast exposed, Stevie instantly turned red with embarrassment.

"Don't. Don't start that," Lindsey instructed. "You're a vision. You always have been."  
"Yeah...a vision of an old lady with sagging boobs and bags under her eyes." Stevie sarcastically massaged the air. "How sexy."

Stevie covered her exposed flesh and reached for the bottle in Lindsey's hand. He shook his head.

"On the bed." Lindsey gave a nod to the mattress behind Stevie, and she followed his order, climbing atop the comforter as gracefully as she could given her height in relation to the height of the bed. While lingering on hands and knees trying to move the comforter down the bed, Stevie felt fingers dancing between her folds. Unwilling to let the moment pass, she spread her legs wider and pushed her buttocks upwards to allow Lindsey more room to do with her as he pleased. She pressed her face into the soft muffling sanctuary of the beige down comforter; she wouldn't need to suppress her moans, though she was sure Lindsey would be disappointed as a result. Her angelic blonde mane fell to the side as she ground her hips and writhed her head with each pass Lindsey took over her sensitive bud down to her opening and back up again. Primal desire, indeed.

Stevie heard the unmistakable sound of a lid popping open and knew her ache would be soothed presently. Lindsey's fingers left her and remained absent from her flesh for longer than Stevie felt necessary, and she became more impatient by the second. She let out an elongated whine and further gyrations, but still felt no touch on her protruding bud or tenting walls. Exasperated, she moved back to hands and knees and looked around for Lindsey. Her robe began to feel suffocating, and she discarded it to the end of the bed. A small grunt sounded from behind her. Stevie turned to lie on her hip, searching for the source in her candle-lit room.

"Lindsey?" she inquired, hoping she hadn't left him to his own devices for too long. "Stop. Come here."

Lindsey emerged from a corner fully unclothed, and with a full erection. Stevie held out her hand—an offering less of assistance and more of insistence. Unabashedly, Lindsey pinned her arms down with one hand and positioned his member at Stevie's opening with the other. Stevie bucked against him, signaling Lindsey to enter. Slowly, Lindsey pushed the tip of his manhood into Stevie's throbbing slit. She inhaled through clinched teeth.

"I need..." Stevie couldn't muster the word. "I'm sorry."  
"Never be sorry."

Lindsey opened the bottle of lubricant once again, generously lathering it over Stevie's nether regions. He moved one finger inside her—testing the waters, as it were. Stevie nodded for him to continue, and Lindsey once again soaked his fingers. Two digits stretched Stevie's walls in the most delicious way, and she tossed her head in tandem with Lindsey's repetitive manipulations. Lindsey curled his fingers upward to massage the sponge-like area inside Stevie, which elicited hastened breathing and involuntary spreading of her hips.

If a stranger were to interrupt them at that moment, there would be no question as to their love for each other. They made love as old friends, as old lovers, as old enemies, as people connected by old emotional baggage they could never quite rid themselves of. An old shoe fits better. And for reasons neither of them felt like explaining, they understood the sentiment deeply.

Stevie ran her fingernails across Lindsey's back, asking for more stimulation. He looked her squarely in the eye, confirming what she wordlessly requested. Stevie only mouthed, "Please."

Lindsey smiled and pushed himself up. Stevie propped herself to watch Lindsey turn the bottle of lubricant upside down and cover his full erection in the silky substance. Before he could pin her again, Stevie sat upright and motioned for Lindsey to lie prone perpendicular to the head of the bed. He obeyed her request, making sure to move the comforter and sheets away and keep his hard-on ready for Stevie's satisfaction. As Lindsey settled himself, Stevie waddled on her knees over his torso, hovering above his pulsing manhood just long enough for Lindsey to become disgruntled, pushing Stevie's hips down. She sucked at her bottom lip and acquiesced, holding his phallus at the right angle for her to relax onto with ease. As he entered her, Lindsey felt Stevie clench then begin to timidly stroke him as her walls relaxed and seized without pattern. Stevie's eyes closed and her head drooped as she continued to milk him. Not content to watch Stevie have all the fun, Lindsey let his hands roam her curves, paying close attention to her erect nipples—their soft rose-gold hue a beacon of desire and want.

Passionate groans surfaced from the depths of Stevie's soul. She had waited so long and needed so much. Pleasuring herself never quite satisfied her enough, so to feel the warm fullness of Lindsey's shaft filling her...stretching her...was divine.

As she continued circling and pulsing her hips against Lindsey, she felt her climax growing. She directed Lindsey's fingers to cup her vulva, his shaft between his middle and ring fingers, and his calloused thumb pushing her clitoral hood up. She rocked against his hand, allowing her protruding clitoris to pass over the length of Lindsey's thumb. With one stroke, she clenched and stifled a cry. Her body weight fell forward; she had not expected such a rapid response, and her legs nearly gave out from under her. Though she was able to catch herself, her small hands began to fatigue.

Lindsey pressed his free palm against Stevie's collar bone, effectively acting as her ballast. She released a pressured sigh, mixed with quivering lips and a single stream of salt on her cheek.

"Let go." Lindsey pushed harder against Stevie's sensitive pelvis, making her clitoris stick out further against his thumb. Her hips moved of their own accord, bringing her closer to the edge.   
Stevie shook her head. A strand of her blonde hair caught at the corner of her mouth. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no."  
" _Stephanie_ ," Lindsey insisted and bucked his hips.

Stevie immediately climaxed, pressing down and clenching so hard Lindsey almost cried out in pain. The vision she was moments prior was nothing compared to what Lindsey saw as Stevie came: her body trembled; her knuckles turned white; her breathing stopped; her mouth hung agape; a flood of tears fell from their perches, landing softly on Lindsey's torso. Stevie once again moved against him with a sharp pump, and he came, matching her trembles with his own.

Two bodies melded together as Lindsey felt Stevie relax on top of him, though he was still mid-climax. Stevie's grunts echoed his strokes as he released into her fully. Spent of energy, Lindsey brought his thighs up and spread his legs to hold Stevie's buttocks in place as they both came down from their mutual high.

Moments passed with silence; only the sound of rapid breaths filled the spacious bedroom. Both lay with their arms pressed flat against the bed. Neither had the strength to move or speak, but Stevie felt an emotional onslaught rising in her. She tried to halt the deep sobs—her chest jolting as a result—but, ultimately, they emerged with a vengeance.

Stevie heaved: her cries were that of a widowed wife. In essence, she was a widowed wife, save for the fact the man she loved was directly beneath her in the flesh. In every other area of their lives, they were partners. But their romantic relationship was over and had been for thirty years. There were times when their mutual need for each other's bodies overtook Lindsey and Stevie's logical processes. They acted on impulse, not stopping to think how fucking in the bathroom on-board their plane would affect the next show. Those times grew fewer and farther between as the years passed, however. Stevie wrote it off as aging; Lindsey knew the truth. The very fact she was sobbing into his chest confirmed his inkling. He also knew better than to try and comfort her. So, he lay still, his hands flat and breath consistent.

After a solid quarter hour, Stevie finally returned to breathing normally. Lindsey had softened inside her, and she slid up his body to free him. Their faces were centimetres from touching as she did so, and Lindsey almost lost his resolve. They had agreed never to lock lips during their backstage escapades, as that would cross the line of acceptable intimacy. They could touch, caress, lick, suck, bite, nibble, and have sexual intercourse, but that was all. Physically, they were nothing more than fuck-buddies. To add another layer of intimate connection to their already-too-fragile emotional status would ruin the chemistry and respect they had found as friends and ex-lovers.

Stevie rolled off Lindsey with ease, allowing her body to sink into the mattress, her eyes closed. Her need was met, and Lindsey's need was met. She felt his arm move away and knew he was gathering his clothes. There was nothing she could do to stop him from leaving. She had tried in the past, and she had failed. Lindsey's guilt superseded his desire to stay with her sometimes. Tonight was apparently one of those times.

A few moments passed while Lindsey composed himself. Still unable to completely look away from Stevie's angelic pose, nude atop the beige comforter, Lindsey hurriedly zipped his fly but left his belt unfastened. It was Stevie's doing, after all, and who was he to undo her work?

Stevie heard the door click shut and opened her eyes. Beside her palm rested a rose stem and the bottle of lubricant—Lindsey's final 'thank you'. Stevie slinked her fingers south, slid them inside her slowly, brought them back up to her lips, and kissed his seed.   
  



End file.
